


Shadowbox

by FireEye



Category: Zero | Project Zero | Fatal Frame Series, Zero: Shisei no Koe | Fatal Frame III: The Tormented, 零 濡鴉ノ巫女 | Fatal Frame: Maiden of Black Water
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 10:18:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12885765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireEye/pseuds/FireEye
Summary: Seeking answers without questions, a much younger Hisoka finds that which she was always meant to find.





	Shadowbox

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elwing_alcyone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwing_alcyone/gifts).



The tattered old cardboard boxes hadn’t seen the light of day since being put into storage, years ago.  Rei hadn’t forgotten them, not really...

....but Hisoka _found_ them.

Now she was sitting in the middle of them, sorting their contents with much more care and reverence than Rei herself had, those years ago.  She had her misgivings, but then Hisoka smiled up at her.

So bright and full of warmth, Rei couldn’t help but smile in return.

“I never knew,” Hisoka said, reaching to accept the tea Rei had brought her.

Rei seated herself on the floor, near enough to be companionable, far enough that she didn’t get in the way.  Her own cup of tea warmed her hands.  “Never knew what?”

“I never knew...” Hisoka repeated, hiding her smile behind the cup of tea.

Rei didn’t ask again.

A small bell chimed in the silence as Ruri meandered into the room.  She took stock of the mountain of cardboard and books and gadgets, nudged Hisoka with her forehead once, and wandered off again, rubbing against Rei on her way out.

Reaching for one of the notebooks in the stack, Rei rested it upon her knee and flipped through its pages absently; the handwriting was familiar, but from another lifetime.  Another life.  She lifted her head from her reverie when Hisoka spoke, hearing beyond the quiet words.

“I thought I was alone.”

“Lots of people collect antiques,” Rei assured her, but lost her smile.  Hisoka frowned.

“That’s not what I meant.”

The girl lifted a photo album from one of the boxes.  Nudging the cardboard flap up and out of her way with an elbow, she set the album in her lap with reverence.

Rei didn’t push her.

“Mother...” Hisoka started, then sighed.

She opened the album, taking in the pictures of people she didn’t know, and locations she did, if only through photographs.  Taking her time to view this moment or that, before turning to the next page.  And the next.  And another, at random.

“She thinks I’m strange,” Hikosa spoke evenly, but the words were heavy like a secret.  “She thinks you’re strange, too.”

The photos in the album had grown darker.  From happy snapshots to solemn portraits.  From city streets to abandoned places.  From spring and summer to fall and winter.

“I never thought you were strange,” Hisoka said, staring at a sunset captured in time.  “I thought you were sad.”

Rei smiled softly.

“Sometimes I am sad.”

She reached across Hisoka’s arm to flip the page.  Hisoka fidgeted, looking up at her.

“But...” she struggled for the right words,  “You _know_ things.”

Rei’s shock was muted.

Practically unnoticed, and certainly un-remarked upon.

For Hisoka, truth was self-evident.  She didn’t let it isolate her.  If anything, it made her happy.  Having found a connection with the strange, lonely, isolated twig on the Kurosawa family tree, she bubbled over the things that Rei had put away long ago.

“Can I keep them?” she asked, enthusiasm running over, “Or at least borrow them for a little while?”

Finally seeing through Rei’s expression, she restrained herself.  Her head bowed, Hisoka put the album back; she drew herself inward, clasping her cup with both hands.

“I’m sorry; I understand if it’s a sensitive question...”

“No, it’s all right...” Rei reassured her, visibly collecting her wits.  “Um.”

She leaned to look through the boxes, one by one.  At once remembering and having forgotten what was in them.  Standing to set her cup on the coffee table, Rei returned and delved through their contents.

She removed an antique camera.  A radio.  A couple of notebooks.  Another photo albums.  A smaller wooden box, hidden in one of the larger cardboard ones.  These she carried aside.

“If you make a box to take with you now,” she said, as she set down her collection, out of reach, “I can bring the rest over to you later.”

“Are you sure?”  Hisoka asked, uncertain.

“I don’t know why I kept it.  A lot of it is sentimental, I guess.”  Rei explained, settling back down on the floor.  “Some of it was never... I never thought of it as mine.”

Beaming, Hisoka stood up from the middle of her boxes and sat down again, closer to Rei.  She reached over to grab Rei’s hand, giving it an squeeze as she leaned into her with pure affection.

Rei watched as Hisoka picked out select antiques, outdated textbooks, notebooks and research on folklore, albums full of old family history.  An old professional camera that Rei had long since replaced caught her eye – and once she picked it up, she didn’t want to put it down.

It still worked, and Rei still had some old canisters of unused film.

They spent the rest of Hisoka’s visit taking pictures.

 

As the sun set over the small garden, and Hisoka readied to leave with her box tucked under her arm, Rei embraced her.  Resting her hands on Hisoka’s shoulders, she sighed.

“Hisoka...”

At first, the words wouldn’t come, and instead she smiled.

Her smile was tattered, like an old photograph.

“Never follow the dead.”

Rei hugged her again and sent her on her way.

***

Hisoka spent the late summer afternoons learning how to use the camera.  Sometimes she took pictures of people, or scenes of city life; sometimes of plants and landscapes.

Sometimes, she took pictures of the things that only she could see, but they never came out.  Not like she wanted.

The photos she had taken at Rei’s house had come out well.  But there had been a shadow in them, here and there.  It shrouded Rei especially.  Whenever Hisoka tried to capture that shadow on her own, she never could.  No matter how clearly she could perceive its presence.

It didn’t stop her from trying.

 

Once, she took a picture of Ren.  He was gloomy enough.  But he only flinched and rolled his eyes at her, and returned to his book.

“You’re no fun,” she told him, falling dramatically against the wall next to his desk.  He didn’t like it when she looked at him, so she didn’t; instead she focused on the settings on the camera, fiddling with them.

“I’m going away soon,” he blurted out.  And following, more measured, “I’m going to Mikomori Village to stay for summer break, so you’ll have plenty of time to find someone else who is fun.”

Hisoka blinked.  Forgetting herself briefly, she tried to peer at him over the cover of the book.

“Can I come?”

Ren fidgeted.  “Ask my mother.”

She had once overheard Ren’s mother talking to her own about how Ren couldn’t stand any girl other than Hisoka.  It made her hopeful that one day they would start dating and Hisoka would draw him out of his shell.

Hisoka didn’t like him like _that_.

That was, she had sensed, part of why Ren liked her at all.

 

When she developed the photo, there were no shadows.  Only Ren’s grumpy face.

***

Some of Rei’s notebooks and albums had references to the Mikomori region and Hikami.  She brought those, along with any others Ren might find interesting.  It was something of a trade.

Besides, she liked reading them, too.

Ren shut himself away with his books.

Hisoka spent her days and evenings exploring the town.  It was neither the quaint village she was expecting, nor was it the city bustle she was accustomed to.

She frequented small street-side cafes and boutiques, she found them simply delightful, despite that they were mostly for tourists.  Once, she stumbled across a tiny museum of Hikami history independently operated and financed by a wizened old man who was single-mindedly dedicated to the topic, and who delighted in regaling her with stories and folklore of the mountain.  Everywhere she went, she took pictures, and had them developed at a little niche-in-the-wall photography shop, where she had to buy more film before the end of the first week.

 

One afternoon, Hisoka fell in with a group of local girls her own age.  They were skeptical at first – so was she – but all it took was a bit of magic to win them over.

It was her simplest trick, and one Hisoka’s classmates had long grown tired of.  But these girls were delighted, and when she showed them how, took turns practicing for one another.

Then, she taught them more.  She told the oldest girl’s fortune, followed by scrying the youngest girl’s past.  She even took their pictures – solemn portraits and silly schoolgirl poses, and promised to share them later, once they’d been developed.

 

By the time Hisoka started back to Ren’s house, the sun was setting.

An old woman blocked her way on the street.  Hisoka’s bewilderment gave way to a tiny, understanding chuckle, as the woman held out her hand, not unlike the schoolgirls.  The woman took her fortune with good humor, and gave Hisoka one of her own.

“You’ll find what you’re looking for.”

The old woman turned and began to walk away.  A small charm dropped to the ground as she did, appearing almost as if by one of Hisoka’s magic tricks.

Hisoka hurriedly stooped to retrieve it, and when she stood, the woman was gone.

***

When she had followed the feeling of the charm, she found herself standing in the old woman’s home.  The old woman scrubbed Hisoka’s face with a clean cloth and water, before waving for her to make herself comfortable.  Hisoka knelt at the chabudai, taking in the older, more traditional sense of decor.

It was comforting.

The old woman returned with a tray carrying two cups; she set one before Hisoka and one across the small table for herself, before settling down on the mat herself and setting aside the tray.  Lifting the cup before her, Hisoka found, rather than the tea she might have expected, cream-dark coffee.

It smelled divine.

“Kurosawa.”

Hisoka started, and the woman cackled.

“Don’t look so surprised.”

“But...” Hisoka began, “How did you...?”

The woman waved her silent, and sipped from her tea.  “That’s not the important question.”

Hisoka stared at her for what felt like a very long moment.  She wanted to ask what was the important question.

“What _am_ I looking for?” she asked.

The old woman’s grin widened, revealing crooked yellow teeth.

“See?  You’re already learning.”

***

Reminiscing through her packets of photographs on the long ride home, Hisoka felt a pang of loss as Mikomori Village disappeared under the shadow of Hikami, and the mountain itself receded in the distance behind them.

She didn’t want to leave.  She wanted to go back.

Hisoka had spent her days much the same.  Her evenings, however, were spent learning.

Some photos she shared with Ren.  Some she had even taken with him in mind.  Others, she didn’t think he’d have much interest in.  She’d already given out copies to the friends she had made.

One of them had a shadow.

A photo of a solemn young woman, perhaps a couple of years older than Hisoka, herself.  She was buying flowers from a street vendor.

Absently, Hisoka touched the charm that hung from her wrist.  Neither the charm, nor the photo, held answers.

***

If not a habit, visiting became a priority, as often as opportunity presented itself.  Even those rare occasions where she could only spend one night.

Between visits, time seemed to stand still in Mikomori Village while she was gone.  It didn’t matter if she was gone months or weeks, everything was as she had left it and she was always welcomed as if she had only been gone a day.

Ishikawa was not the only one interested in teaching her.  Other old women from the town, often visiting for this favor or that return of a favor rendered, found Hisoka’s presence a delight.

“Such a respectful young woman,” one was fond of saying.  Another was pleased that the arts would be passed on to the next generation.  After all, “So few girls are interested learning such important knowledge these days.”

And yet another, “Certainly a Kurosawa, in heart as well as in name.”

Hisoka excelled at learning all they were willing to impart.

***

A photo of a young woman, buying flowers.

Hisoka followed its shadow up the mountain path, along the stream that turned into a river and meandered out beyond the town.

The woman had gone missing earlier that week.  She had heard the elders’ hushed discussion on the matter.  One had said she’d been taken by the mountain.  Hisoka piped up to ask what that meant, and they’d gone quiet and quietly gone about their business.

The path seemed very high and steep, and the waterfall in the distance thundered.  She saw – or thought she saw – a shrine maiden dancing in the rain on the path above, the same she had seen in photos in her explorations of town, and almost slipped on the rain-drenched earth.

Ishikawa was there to catch her.

Where she had come from, Hisoka couldn’t say.  The old woman made a sound with her tongue.  Once Hisoka had shown her the photo, she nodded.

“Ah.  I see, I see,” she said.

Leading the girl to a small cave in the cliff wall, she sat her beside the memorial therein.  “Don’t come out until I return.”

 Ishikawa left her in the cave, and disappeared into the rain.

Hisoka waited.

And waited.

At times, she felt that people walked by.  But she couldn’t see them.  Water obscured the path beyond the cave.  Daylight grew thin, casting rainbows in the spray.  Finally, when it was dark, and Hisoka had started to shiver, Ishikawa returned.  A shadow shuffling the dark, calling her name.

It was brighter outside of the cave, under a full moon.

“Come along,” was all the old woman said.  Her smile was pained, but her voice was cheerful.

Hisoka looked up the path, seeking the maiden she had seen earlier.  This time she saw _– knew_ she saw – a red umbrella disappearing around the bend in the path

Transfixed, she started to follow.  The only thing that held her in place was Ishikawa’s iron grip.

“Hisoka-chan,” the soft voice drifted into her consciousness, bringing her back down to earth.  Ishikawa was smiling at her.

“Come, help an old woman down the mountain, will you?”

Hisoka glanced back only once more, over her shoulder, towards the waterfall.  It was the dark of night, but she could see the bright stars shining and their pale, glittering refractions over the falls.

They were alone, but... they weren’t, not at all.

All at once, Hisoka felt she was very small.  A child, accompanying her elder on a pilgrimage.

 

Once they were back in the town, Ishikawa scrubbed Hisoka’s face with a clean cloth and mikomori water, before sending her along home.

***

One dusk, as the light was leaving the sky deep blue and before the stars had begun to shimmer, another old woman’s niece brought Ishikawa a crate from one of the other elders.  Hisoka drifted towards it as the girl excused herself to leave, feeling drawn to...

...drawn to...

...it _felt_ familiar.

Familiar in a way that did not belong to this place.

Hisoka didn’t understand.

“Ah,” her mentor said, without so much as touching the crate.  Her tone was flat with distaste.  “I do not think I want this.”

Noticing Hisoka’s interest, she gestured her closer.

“You can have it, if you like.  Only... be careful with it, will you?”

There was a small wooden box atop a couple of notebooks, an antique radio, a packet of photos...

...an antique camera.

Rei’s antique camera.

“But...”

_...how?_

***

Rei’s house was empty.

The family didn’t want it.  One of Hisoka’s distant cousins was in charge of selling it, and everything had already been cleared away.  The numb, emptiness echoed somewhere deep inside her.

Hisoka sat outside the door, staring at her hands.  The last time she had visited Rei, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.  No shadows on photographs; no strange, opaque warnings...

The jingle of bells drew her from her thoughts.  Ruri came padding around the corner of the house from the garden, and sat under the eave near Hisoka.  At first the cat paid her no heed, only focused on cleaning the rain from her face.

When she wandered closer, staring up curiously, Hisoka picked her up and held her.

***

Hisoka begged.  Pleaded.  Felt tears begin to overflow.

The old woman was unmoved.

“The camera is not a good token,” is all her mentor would say.  “It’s entangled with too many others.”

When Hisoka returned the next morning without the camera, calmer now... _too exhausted to weep_ , there was a cup of coffee waiting for her on the chabudai.  The old woman was embroidering, using thread and needle to emboss a bloom of flowers.

“Can you tell me at least, is she still alive?” Hisoka asked.

Her heart didn’t want to know the answer.

Ishikawa looked up.  Hisoka could read it in her expression: _“You’re learning.”_

But the answer was ambiguous.

“She doesn’t want to be found.”

Another lesson.

***

The camera was broken.

When Hisoka was fussing around with it, trying to entice it to work, the broken shutter button clicked, and the camera snapped one picture.

After that, nothing.

The film was old, and when the picture was developed, along with her usual packet of photos she picked up, it left Hisoka at a loss.

The picture was of herself.  The camera hadn’t snapped the picture at that angle, but it was the only photo unaccounted for in her packet.

But... turn it this way, and it seemed to be of Rei.

Turn it back, Hisoka.

The longer Hisoka stared, the more people she could see.  People she didn’t know.  Some she almost felt she did.

As she was staring at it, Ruri jumped onto the desk, startling her from falling deeper into the photograph.

The picture was of herself again.

***

Hisoka dreamed.

In her dream, she followed Rei’s shadow.

It was raining.  Drops pattered against the flagstones of a traditional garden, and tapped against the roof overhead.  The old, abandoned mansion of Hisoka’s dream twisted and turned around her, but some rooms she found herself walking through were from Rei’s house.

It began to feel as though no matter how far she went, no matter how fast she ran, she would never catch up.

As though the water weighed her down. 

The drumming of the rain never let up, even as she went deeper.

And deeper still.

Into a shrine on the water.

There, Rei stood.

Waiting.

Stifling a smile as Hisoka tripped over a cardboard box in her haste.

Not to be defeated so easily, Hisoka threw her arms around Rei; Rei caught her easily, and squeezed her back gently.  Pulling back, but not away, Hisoka struggled for words, but the words wouldn’t make it past her throat.

For an instant, it seemed as though tattoos had been inked across Rei’s skin.  They flickered and moved, and, as Hisoka stared, and they were gone.

Rei smiled.

Her fingers brushed Hisoka’s cheek, and Hisoka woke up.

The first thing she saw was the antique camera.

Ruri watched her from the windowsill, against a backdrop of blue skies and rain upon the pane of glass.

***

“Can I live at your house?” Hisoka asked him, out of the blue.

Ren very pointedly looked at her, before he went back to very pointedly not looking at her.

“You are going to give my mother ideas,” he said.

“Not like that,” she promised, stepping to one side to catch his gaze.  Normally, she wouldn’t, but she meant it; she wanted him to know she did.  “Say yes and I’ll tell you why.”

He didn’t say yes.  He didn’t look away, either.

Hisoka smiled.  She stepped out of her shoes before taking his hand, inviting herself deeper into the residence.

“Did you know our families are intertwined?  It’s like destiny.”

Ren jerked his hand away.

“Please don’t say such things.”

“I’m only teasing,” Hisoka said, turning to stand before him.  “You know I am.  But it’s true; they are.”

“I have family in Mikomori Village, too,” she finally explained, “I never knew until we spent that first summer there.”

“So?”

“You’re going to university, right?”

“...so?”

“I’m not.”

Ren blinked at her.

“Can I live at your house?  Until I can find my own place?”

She could read it in his face, but it wasn’t until he blurted out, “Okay, I’ll ask,” that Hisoka hugged him.  It took him by surprise, but her happiness overflowed and splashed onto him.  Ren smiled despite himself.

He didn’t bother to ask what she was planning to do or why it was so important.

It was Hisoka.

She was strange.

***

The camera was broken.

...but...

Once she found the part that had worn down under the shutter button, it seemed to work fine.  The film it required was harder to find, but she had befriended the old man who ran the photography shop with her enthusiasm.  A true aficionado, he contacted a friend who contacted a friend...  and eventually, she had a supply of older film that almost wasn’t a true fit, but worked for her needs.

Which left the casing.

Of all the parts, the casing had taken the most damage.  This, she took apart in its entirety, rehousing the parts inside into a new body, which she painstakingly researched and crafted and inscribed herself to invoke the original.

When she had finished, it still held something of Rei.  Only now it held something of Hisoka as well.

Hisoka had always been good with antiques.

She still didn’t know where Rei had gone, and it still left her with an emptiness inside.

But in Mikomori Village, Hisoka had found herself.

**Author's Note:**

> When I was chasing plotbunnies, it occurred to me that Rei's Manor of Sleep Camera Obscura and Hisoka's Camera Obscura look... actually kinda similar. I doubt I have the supplemental support for the theory: I think it _might_ eke by on the English translation alone, but I'm not sure it was translated properly. I'm also not sure Hisoka wasn't supposed to be local, but a lot of the character blurbs were very vague on who is and who isn't; and when exactly Hisoka and Ren met, which...
> 
> Okay, so Fatal Frame is _vague_. And even then I might be stretching it a little. ;)
> 
> But I enjoyed exploring Hisoka's backstory, and I hope you enjoyed reading it.
> 
> Happy Yuletide. :)


End file.
